


a certain level of commitment

by bandwidthlimit



Series: Leverage Ficlets [27]
Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25416574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bandwidthlimit/pseuds/bandwidthlimit
Summary: “What if we are?” He leveled a serious look at her over the lip of his cup. “Not the team, I mean, but you and me.”
Relationships: Sophie Devereaux/Nathan Ford
Series: Leverage Ficlets [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840567
Kudos: 9





	a certain level of commitment

Nate never knew that Sophie ran every morning until she hobbled into his apartment at seven am. He didn't bother to ask her how she got in – he knew damn well he'd locked the door last night – but instead took in the running shorts that exposed more of her tan legs than he remembered seeing in San Lorenzo. The running jacket was unzipped and head phones hung down and drew his eyes to her chest.

He realized it must be raining out. She was dripping water onto the hard wood of the floor. She was also favoring her left leg, leaning against one of the tall chairs at the counter that Hardison had installed (without his permission, again).

“Are you alright?”

She glared at him, and gave her head a quick shake, either to get the wet hair out of her eyes or to tell him no.

“I twisted my bloody ankle trying to avoid a gaggle of tourists and a puddle that looked like the Atlantic, and-” she put weight on her foot and hissed, drawing it back up off the ground, “And your place was the closest place to get ice and – why are you looking at me like that? Don't laugh at me!”

Her voice was rising in indignation and it just made him laugh harder. He set his coffee mug down on the counter and leaned against it, shoulders shaking.

“You mean you can walk in three inch heels but you can't run past a group of tourists?”

“Ooh!” She let go of the chair and took a step toward him, and over balanced. “I hate you, Nathan Ford.”

There was no heat to her voice, and he just kept laughing, even as he moved over to her side and helped her toward a chair. She gripped the shoulder of his shirt as they hobbled toward the kitchen and didn't let go when she sat. He raised an eyebrow at her and it disappeared into his hair when she brushed her mouth against his. “Wanker.”

He gave a light huff of amusement and she let him go, watching his back as he gathered a bag and ice.

“Do you run this way everyday?” He asked the refrigerator more than he asked her, but she could hear the curiosity in his voice. She rolled her eyes at his back, and propped her leg up on the chair next to her.

“Does it matter, Nate?”

“Maybe,” he wrapped the bag in a soft towel and turned back to her. She held out a hand for it, but instead of giving it to her, like she'd expected, he held it against her ankle himself. “You could just come up, you know. You don't need to injure yourself to do it. You don't even need a key, obviously.”

“Has it occurred to you that maybe I don't run this direction because of you?”

“You could run by Hardison's place, or Parker's, or Eliot's, but instead you run scantily clad by here. What am I supposed to take from that?”

This time she rolled her eyes to his face, and sighed. “That less cloth is less wind resistance. That Hardison doesn't even keep ice in his apartment, Parker lives in a warehouse, and Eliot would give me a lecture about proper running technique, and the only reason I bloody run everyday is because I don't want to be stuck holding another bomb and worrying if I can make it the three meters to the door or not. Jesus, Nate, not everything is about you!”

He was definitely smiling. That bastard, he thought it was funny. She moved to kick him off and winced, settling her left foot back against the chair again. His hands were heavy on the ice pack, holding her down.

“I know,” he smiled gently, the expression foreign on his face. “Sometimes it's just worth it to get you riled up.”

“All your riling up is a headache, Ford,” she slapped him lightly on the shoulder, but her expression softened to match his. “Anyway, does it even matter why I run?”

“No,” he shrugged, taking her hand and replacing his own on the ice pack, reaching instead for his coffee. “But, you know, you're not going to be in that position again. You're never going to be left holding a bomb, Soph. We're here for you.” His silent 'I'm here for you,' hung heavy in the air between them.

Her smile twisted, and she tightened her fingers on the towel. “You don't know that, Nate. We're not going to be together every second of the day. The team won't always be together.”

“What if we are?” He leveled a serious look at her over the lip of his cup. “Not the team, I mean, but you and me.”

“Nate...” Her tone held a tone of warning, but he cut her off.

“I'm serious here, Soph. I, I – I,” he set his coffee mug down and stepped away, flustered. “I'm not talking about marriage here or anything, but I mean – we're both adults here, and I don't see why we can't, I don't know, maintain a certain level of commitment, between two people, you know?”

She sighed and moved the bag of ice to the counter, standing despite the flash of pain. “I've heard this from you before, Nate. 'Dinner, as colleagues,' remember? How long until a 'certain level of commitment' isn't enough?”

“Sophie -”

“Nate, listen. I've been married before. Or, you know, Katherine has been married before. And Jenny. But, Sophie... and, well. I've never wanted to get married, Nate. I can't.”

“Sophie,” she was one step closer to the door then she'd been a moment before, and he cut her off, taking her by the elbow. “I'm not asking you to marry me. If you'll remember, that hasn't ended very well for me in the past. I just think we should be a little more honest with each other. I don't want to have to chase you across the world again.”

She turned in his grip, facing him. “I'm not going to run, Nate. This,” she gestured vaguely between the two of them, resting her hand on his chest at the end of the movement. “This is what I want, now. The only running I'm doing now is for the purpose of exercise.”

“Really,” his lips were much closer to hers than they had been a moment before, and he idly wondered if she'd thought to lock the door behind herself. “Is that a yes, then?”

“That depends,” she smiled, and brought her arm up to rest on his shoulder, angling her head to brush her lips against his as he spoke, “on exactly what you're asking.”

“Be with me, Soph. No picket fence, no marriage. Just us, and the team, and the job. Just a little more of us then before.”

“Then yes,” she smiled, leaning more of her weight against him and conveniently pressing more of herself against him, “that's a yes.”

The door swung open with a flourish, and whatever might have happened next was lost in Hardison's loud exclamation over the sanctity of his eyes, and Parker's demands to understand what was going on. Over Sophie's shoulder, Nate watched Eliot shake his head and usher the other two back into the hallway. He stifled a laugh at Eliot's exaggerated thumbs up, which he was sure he would later pay for by the recounting of whatever activity he convinced the others to do.

For now, though, it was worth it, and he looked down at Sophie with the smile he knew turned her knees to jelly (which in retrospect, with the state her ankle was in, probably wasn't his best idea), “Why don't we take this upstairs?”


End file.
